Merry Little Hate Notes

Chapter Three

HOLLY

“I SERIOUSLY CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE going to be working with Brandon.” Carmen twisted her head in my direction as we moved into downward facing dog pose in my tiny living room. Dad’s old den furniture from better days filled the cramped space. We’d fit as many of his solid wood bookshelves as we could in the small three-bedroom home Dad and I rented in the older part of Littleton. Everything from first editions of prized literature to books about ancient cultures filled the shelves, making the room feel even smaller.

Carmen and I did yoga here at least three times a week. She was a yoga instructor, and this was her way of helping me de-stress and clear my mind. After every session we would pretend like it was 2009 and dance to “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)” while inhaling brownies. Best stress relief around. It might also be the reason no one was putting a ring on it. Or, you know, because I’d had zero time to even think about a relationship. Regardless, Carmen Garcia was the best friend a girl could ask for. When everyone else seemed to bail on me after my cruel twist of fate, she’d held on tight and never let go.

With blood rushing to my brain and my messy bun falling out, I turned my head to face her gorgeousness. I envied her golden-brown skin and long wavy black hair. My pale skin looked like a cross between a malnourished peasant who never saw the sun and a frequent vampire blood donor. “I know,” I moaned. Now that I’d thought about it for a few hours, I wasn’t sure the potential money was worth it. “I don’t think I’ll be able to hide in the bathroom the entire time.”

She giggled. “I can’t believe you even consider that an option. Get ready to lunge. Raise your right leg. Stretch, stretch. Now bring it in and kiss the knee, then bring it forward.”

I maneuvered as gracefully as I could. Thankfully, I was pretty flexible and had good core strength. “I’d clean the bathroom at this rate if it meant not seeing him.”

“So he’s still pretty, huh?”

“So freaking pretty.” I lengthened my arms out to match Carmen and looked over my left fingertips, thinking of Brandon’s perfect face. Ugh. He made me want to buy stacks of sticky note pads and barrage him with hate notes. But I was trying to be mature about it ... said the woman willing to hide in the bathroom. In my defense, I needed to catch up on the office gossip. I was dying to know how Amy and Rita handled Joel from IT once they’d figured out he was dating them both. Or whether Jane ever solved the mystery of who kept stealing just one piece of every puzzle placed in the common areas to help employees relax. She was on a mission to hunt down the culprit. These were things I could only learn in the bathroom for some reason.

“And he’s okay with this partnership?” Carmen asked.

“Oddly, he seems to be, but I know it’s just an act. He has something up his sleeve; I can feel it.” That little hate note had said it all.

“Like what?”

“I have no idea. I thought he’d tortured me enough in high school. Guess he’s back for round two.” Although I wasn’t sure what could be more humiliating and hurtful than making me believe he returned the feelings I had for him. He’d given an Academy Award winning performance, and I’d fallen for it. Hard. No guy at eighteen should know how to kiss that well. My foot hadn’t popped since, and there was something so wrong about that. Worse, sometimes my mind would replay his whisper: “You’re beautiful, Holly.” He had no idea how badly I’d wanted to believe him. And I had for an entire night, only to wake up and find my dream was actually a nightmare .

I lost more than just the boy I loved. I lost one of my best friends, even if, unbeknownst to me, he’d been a fake friend. He’d been a constant for half my life at that point. Sadly, it was just the beginning of things I would lose.

“Didn’t you say he was giving you half his commissions? That’s a big deal, right?”

“It could be.” We’re talking possibly over $100,000 big, after taxes. It just depended on whether Brandon could close the lucrative deals Marisol had been working on before the end of the year. This was always a tricky time with the holiday season upon us.

“Why would he do that if he were trying to torture you? I’m not saying the guy’s not a jerk, because obviously I still hate him on your behalf, but this seems ... weird. And I don’t think Mr. Cassidy would allow this if he didn’t think Brandon would be aboveboard.”

She made some good points. But she didn’t know about his recent note, or any of his notes for that matter, and I wasn’t going to tell her about it. It felt like a dirty little secret I’d been keeping since I was eight. And I really didn’t want to admit out loud that I was a gray sprinkle. I collapsed onto my mat and sighed. “Maybe he won’t close any deals on purpose while we’re working together,” I lamely threw out there.

Carmen shifted fluidly and sat gracefully on her mat, biting her pouty lip. “But wouldn’t that hurt him just as much as you?”

“Well. Not really. With the kinds of deals he closes, he probably makes seven figures a year, not to mention he’ll own the company one day.” I had to hand it to Bertram Cassidy, though—he was making his son work his way up through the ranks. Brandon had started at the bottom in my same position, despite his MBA from Georgetown and the potential to write his ticket anywhere. This was all per Lauren, of course. I didn’t intentionally seek this information.

“Wow, he’s doing well for himself. Not that it’s a big surprise.”

“Exactly. So, what are a few more deals to him?”

“Hmm. You think he’s that callous and immature?”

That hate note said it all. “Yep.”

She shrugged like she wasn’t so sure, but was giving me the benefit of the doubt. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I could really use that money. It would mean finally being able to look for a new job.”

“And move out? Come be roomies with me. Pretty please?” She clasped her hands together, begging.

I loved the sound of that. I’d wanted to move on for years, but I couldn’t leave my dad. Even now I was staving off a panic attack because he was a few minutes late coming home from work. He’d finally found a job teaching history at the local community college. It was the only place willing to take a chance on him after he’d burned almost every bridge with his drinking. He’d lost book deals, speaking engagements, his professorship at DU, along with every other opportunity. Where once people clamored for him, he was now persona non grata.

Watching his descent into the depths of hell almost unto death was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. And even though he was a year sober and doing better, I was having a hard time letting go. What if I did and lost him too? He’d barely gotten his license back after his DUI and was finally eating three proper meals a day. I couldn’t lose him like Christian and ... well . .. her. My mom. Although my mother was still alive, Mom was long gone, and I missed her more than I could articulate.

“I want to move in with you. I really do.”

Carmen crossed her perfectly toned legs and reached for my hands, holding them between her own. “Holly, you’re the most amazing person I know. But, chica, you have to stop putting your life on hold.”

It did feel as if someone had pushed the pause button on the made-for-TV movie of my life and I’d been living through years of infomercials for spray-on hair in a can. I’d thought I’d at least be clerking for a federal judge by now or working my way up to junior partner in a firm. Instead, I’d graduated from a local school hardly anyone would recognize, so far from all the Ivy League universities where I’d been accepted. But my dad needed me, and how could I follow in my mother’s footsteps, knowing the truth? I no longer had the desire to be anything like her.

“I know, but I’ve made detailed charts in my head about all the things that could go wrong if I stop worrying and move on. Let me tell you, it’s not pretty. We’re talking Armageddon here.”

Carmen giggled. “I know you think your over-worrying is saving the world.”

“It is,” I interjected. “And you’re welcome.” Worrying is my superpower.

She shook my hands. “In the meantime, it’s wrecking your world.”

“Ouch. Way to not sugarcoat it.” Of course, she was right. I was almost thirty years old, still living with my dad, and working a job well below my capabilities. And don’t even get me going on my nonexistent love life. I could hardly recall the last date I’d been on. The only reason I remember it at all is because it got cut short when I received a call that our neighbor found my dad passed out drunk in the front yard and he was being rushed to the hospital. Shocker the guy didn’t ask me on a second date.

“This is called tough love, sister. And you need it.”

With a big exhale, I lowered my head. “You’re right. So right.” I thought for a moment, and a surge of courage pulsed through me. I lifted my head and looked directly into Carmen’s big brown eyes. “You know what? I don’t care what Brandon’s up to. I’m going to close these deals myself if I have to.” Not sure if that was allowed, but I’d figure it out. “Then we are going to live our best Monica Geller and Rachel Green lives.”

In high school we used to binge Friends reruns and daydream about being grown up, living together in some big city with cute guys for neighbors. We dreamed of meeting at the local coffee shop, being all vogue while I attended law school and Carmen did things that would tick off her parents, like being a yoga instructor. Mission accomplished in her case. Of course, in that scenario, my neighbor was going to be Brandon, which meant he’d be my Chandler and fall madly in love with me. Obviously, at fifteen, I was delusional and na?ve. It never occurred to me that my life would be anything short of perfect. Oh, did I have a surprise in store. And not the good kind.

“Now we’re talking!” Carmen shouted.

“This is so happening. I think,” I squeaked out, my courage fading and all the charts I’d made in my head screaming at me to reconsider, to remember all the bad things that could happen. For this to work, I’d have to put up with Brandon for the next several weeks. I’m sure my brain would formulate new charts tonight about this unwelcome plot twist that would prevent me from sleeping.

Carmen’s face fell. “Holly, come on. You can do this. I believe in you.”

Summoning my courage again, I nodded. “I’m going to do it,” I whispered. Maybe if I started with a small dream, I could move on to bigger ones. Not to say $100,000—nor surviving a partnership with Brandon through the end of the year—was small.

Carmen let go of my hands and clapped. “Yes! I need to get going, but promise me you’ll come to the gym soon and meet Marco. My parents are going to hate him,” she sang with glee. “You know, as soon as we start dating.”

Her parents, and especially her dad, who owned a large commodity brokerage firm, expected their daughter to be more conventional and serious about life. But Carmen was determined to defy them. I loved her spirit.

“Marco is the best yoga instructor, and he’s from Italy,” she gushed. “You should see him move.” She fanned herself. “He does things with his body I didn’t even know were possible. And his tatted arms and dreadlocks are going to make my parents’ heads explode.”

“Okay, I’ll come,” I laughed. It’s not like I had a life, aside from making scary charts in my head and taking care of my dad.

Carmen jumped up, folded her mat, and grabbed her bag.

I stood as well and hugged my friend, my ride or die. She did most of the riding while I worried about how we might die. It worked for us. Well, sort of. I hadn’t always been like this—I used to be a rider too. Not on, like, any crazy drives with sharp turns and steep drop-offs, but at least I’d been on the road to somewhere.

Carmen dropped her things and hugged me extra tight. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to my parents’ place tomorrow for Thanksgiving?”

I avoided our old neighborhood, just like I avoided Christmas, after my parents’ divorce and the subsequent sale of my childhood home. The place that held all my dreams before they were crushed like a junkyard car. I was afraid to return to see if it was just as magical as I remembered. But I feared above all that I’d find the magic had never existed. I wasn’t ready to suffer that blow.

“As much as I love the Día de Acción de Gracias celebration at your parents’ house with an endless supply of homemade tamales and mole, Dad and I are just going to keep it simple here at home. Dad thinks we need to honor the first Thanksgiving with cod and corn bread. Yummy.” I tried to sound enthusiastic and not dwell on the roasted turkey and orange rolls we used to have every year as we gathered around the Cassidys’ Thanksgiving table.

“Sounds better than the lecture I’ll be getting with a heaping side of judging all my life choices, while both my abuelas ask me a hundred times why I’m not married yet.”

“You know, cod and corn bread does sound better compared to all that.” I giggled.

Carmen released me and took a moment to study me. “I’m sorry, Holly.”

“For what?”

“That the holidays are so hard for you. Maybe someday you’ll be Holly Hollydays again,” she teased, using an old nickname she had for me.

I smiled, remembering how crazy I would go this time of year creating countdowns to Christmas and a holiday movie chart I’d made my entire family and Brandon adhere to. Don’t even get me going on my peppermint craze. And every Christmas Eve I made Christian sleep under the tree with me, long after we’d stopped believing in Santa. For some reason Brandon joined us for that tradition too. He was always there. Now he was here again, and I hated him most for stealing some of the magic.

“I don’t think Holly Hollydays is going to make an appearance anytime soon.”

“That’s too bad. I think you miss her. Bye, best friend.” She grabbed her things and flitted off like she hadn’t just shaken me with her words.

Carmen was right.

I missed Holly Hollydays. So much.